Criticality
by Lambent Flame
Summary: An accident at Springfield Nuclear Power Plant leaves Smithers critically ill and forces Mr. Burns to confront his empathic side - and just as the uranium went critical, so too does his relationship with Smithers.
1. Chapter 1

**Criticality**

 **Chapter One**

"Tell it to me straight, doctor – how serious is it?" Mr. Burns grabbed hold of Hibbert's stethoscope. "He _will_ live... right?"

Dr. Hibbert looked to the ground, shutting his eyes gravely. "Mr. Smithers is suffering from acute radiation sickness. I'm afraid that given the dose of radiation he's received, there's a greater than fifty percent chance he won't make it, even with the best treatments."

Burns' eyes widened briefly in terror before he narrowed them once again into a threatening scowl. "You will remain here and attend to him in my infirmary. Your other duties at the hospital are hereby cancelled."

"Mr. Burns, you can't just order –"

"Oh, can't I?" He smirked. "It would be a shame if I cut the power to the hospital, now wouldn't it?"

"Nice try, but we won't succumb to bullying. The hospital is fully equipped with backup-generators."

"If you do not do as I say, I will cut the power to the hospital indefinitely!"

Hibbert sighed and then spoke into his phone. "Sheila, I'll need you to cover my four o'clock shift," They left the hall and entered the room where Smithers lay in a hospital bed, pale and shivering and clutching at his abdomen, hooked up to an IV administering electrolytes, fluid, and antibiotics. Dr. Hibbert attended to the multiple monitors giving off an incessant stream of beeps and whirs.

Mr. Burns leaned over Smithers and dabbed at his forehead with a moist sponge. Smithers looked into his eyes and faintly smiled before leaning over the opposite side and vomiting into a bucket. Mr. Burns kept the sponge to Smithers' forehead and squeezed it slightly, releasing some of the cool water onto his forehead. "You're a real hero, Smithers." He dabbed the sponge along Smithers' cheek. "Every bit as heroic as your father was."

After retching a bit more into the bucket, which Dr. Hibbert helped lower to the floor, Smithers said in a strained voice, "I'm glad it's me and not you." He moaned in a spasm of pain. "You wouldn't be able to survive this."

"He's right, you know," said Dr. Hibbert, turning to Mr. Burns. "If that radiation had hit you, you would be dead by now."

Mr. Burns took Smithers' hand and interlocked their fingers. "I swear you will live through this. Dr. Hibbert said you would live. You're going to be fine – just fine, Waylon, I swear." He dipped the sponge into cool water and dripped it over Smithers' forehead. "You'll be just fine."

* * *

" _The inspectors are scheduled to arrive soon! Smithers, I'm shaking. Hold me."_

" _With pleasure, sir." Smithers compressed him in a hug for a few seconds before Burns shook him away._

" _Let's make sure those knuckleheads in 7-G aren't making a show of their incompetent boobery."_

" _Good idea, sir."_

" _Where the devil is that triad of twits?" he said, pacing his office after a search of the sector had turned up no sign of Homer, Lenny, or Carl. They caught a glimpse of the three on one of the security monitors and headed for the uranium processing sector._

" _No one will suspect we're down here," said Homer, giggling._

" _I don't know, Homer, this seems kind of dangerous to me," said Carl._

 _Lenny waved his hands and said, "Yeah, I want no part of it."_

" _Come on, be cool..."_

 _Lenny turned to Carl and said, "Well, can't argue with that logic."_

" _Think fast!" Homer said, hurling a frisbee._

 _Lenny caught it and tossed it back to him._

 _He tossed it to Carl, and it hit Lenny in his eye._

" _Ow! My eye! I'm not supposed to get frisbees in it!" Carl picked it up and tossed it back to Homer._

 _Mr. Burns and Smithers advanced on them and came right beside Homer just as he was tossing it. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" yelled Smithers, and Homer fell off-balance, the makeshift frisbee flying off-kilter toward a stack of precariously perched tungsten carbide bricks. As Burns stood there berating them for their tomfoolery while they slinked back toward the door, Smithers noticed the topmost of the neutron reflecting bricks falling and about to collide with the highly-enriched uranium below and gasped. "Get out, now!" he shouted, pushing Mr. Burns forcefully out to the doorway. He pushed the lead-lined door shut, shielding Mr. Burns just as a bright blue flash appeared behind him._

* * *

Mr. Burns rubbed his thumb in circles around Smithers' index finger as the younger man drifted into a restless sleep. "Yes, old friend, you'll be just fine."


	2. Chapter 2

**Criticality**

 **Chapter Two**

"Smithers? I'm home," he called as he entered his mansion, somehow hoping that Smithers could hear him from his sequestered room of recovery. He walked inside Smithers' room, where a young woman with wavy auburn hair and ample breasts dabbed his face with the wet sponge. "I'll take over from here," he said, snatching the sponge out of her hand. Once she had left the room, he dragged it slowly across Smithers' cheek. "That is one tasty nurse you have," he said. "I'm almost jealous of you."

"She's nowhere near as sweet as you, sir."

Burns scoffed. "You can quit the flummery. Do you actually think I'll pay you more money just because you tell me sweet lies?"

"It's not lies. And I don't want more money..." He closed his eyes as beads of water dripped down his forehead and over his eyelids. He yelled out in pain and writhed under the covers. "All I want is...is..." He leaned over the side of the bed and vomited into the bucket. Mr. Burns stroked him behind his ear. "Thank you..." Smithers said in a hoarse whisper.

"No, Waylon. Thank _you_." Smithers smiled briefly before another wave of pain shook him, and Burns rubbed the sponge down Smithers' chest.

"Mr. Burns?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you doing this for me? I mean, care for me in your mansion. Why not just send me to the hospital?"

"I have a vested interest in your health, and I can't trust a gaggle of quacks to manage your health properly. The sooner you're back on your feet, the better it is for my bottom line."

"I thought you might say that. I hope I recover quickly so I can get back to work soon."

"Don't worry about work yet. Just be glad you're alive." Mr. Burns smiled as he moved the sponge around Smithers' neck, then murmured, "Heaven knows I am."

A few days later, while sitting at his desk, Mr. Burns picked up the phone. "Dr. Hibbert? … What about him? … He what? … How could you let this happen to him? I swear I'll sue you so fast your head will spin like a top! Like a top, I say! … Yes, I understand. I'll be right there." He set down the phone, then ran for his limousine and sped all the way home.

He ran to Smithers' room, where Dr. Hibbert stood outside the door in the hallway. "Mr. Burns, I need to prepare you for what you're about to see."

"Egad, man! Are you trying to tell me he's dead?"

Dr. Hibbert chuckled. "Oh, my, no. But he may well be in a few days."

He poked Dr. Hibbert in the center of his chest and said in a sinister snarl, "You promised me he would live."

"Mr. Burns, I distinctly told you there was a high probability he would die."

"Let me see him."

"Okay, but first –"

"Now!"

Dr. Hibbert sighed and stepped aside. Mr. Burns burst through the door and rushed to Smithers' side. His head now devoid of hair, he was even more pale than before, his eyes slackened, looking lifeless. "Oh, no..." He touched Smithers' cheek. "Well, it worked once before..." He drew his lips near, pressed them against Smithers', and pushed air into his mouth.

The world spun around him, then he felt as if he were falling backward into an infinite well. "Mr. Burns?" called Dr. Hibbert, sounding far away. "Mr. Burns, can you hear me?"

Burns' eyes fluttered open. "Smithers?"

"No, Mr. Burns, this is Dr. Hibbert. You passed out on the floor."

Burns looked to his sides. "Ah, yes. So I did." He gradually got up with Dr. Hibbert steadying him. He turned to face Smithers. "I failed to quicken him with my curdled breath... It's all my fault."

"Breathing into him isn't going to help. In fact, given the potential for infection, it could only hurt." He chuckled.

Burns turned to Smithers' pale, still body. "Has he... is he...?"

"No, but I'm afraid he hasn't got much time left."

"Why is he... still... like that?"

"He is severely hypotensive and repeatedly losing consciousness." Smithers' whole body erupted in rhythmic contractions of muscles as he convulsed.

Burns' eyes widened. "What's going on? Why don't you stop him?"

"He's having a seizure. Well, not technically a seizure. It's from his low blood pressure. Unless it lasts too long, it's best to just let him ride it out."

His movements subsided save for some minor twitching of his hands and legs, and Burns touched his twitching hand. "Smithers..." He squeezed as tightly as he could. "I'm not going to lose you, too."

Smithers' eyes opened slowly, the world spinning before him. "M-Mr. Burns...?"

"Yes, Smithers. I'm here."

"I just had the most wonderful dream...I dreamt you were kissing me."

"Yes, a – a dream."

"And I thought – I knew I didn't have much time left to tell you –" He curled his fingers weakly around Burns'. "I'm going to die soon, aren't I?"

Burns shut his eyes and nodded slowly.

"That's okay. You didn't need to hide the truth from me. I'm glad it's me, not you. Because the truth is – Monty, I love..." He lost consciousness again from the exertion of speaking.

Mr. Burns leaned over him and kissed Smithers' lips. "Pleasant dreams, Waylon. Dream only pleasant dreams."


	3. Chapter 3

**Criticality**

 **Chapter Three**

" _No, Waylon Senior, don't go!"_

" _I have to, Monty. To save my son. To save you." He handed Waylon Junior to Mr. Burns' arms._

" _But you'll perish!"_

" _I'm sorry. I need to. To save my son. Save my son. Save my son. Save my son..." He left for the reactor core._

 _His surroundings shifted to Smithers' eighth birthday party, where young Waylon unenthusiastically opened presents of army men and similar things he had no interest in, not a single Malibu Stacy item in all his gifts. "Waylon, come here," beckoned Mr. Burns. "Follow me." He led him up to his bedroom, and there he handed him a present. "Open it."_

 _Waylon did, and his eyes lit up when he saw it was a Malibu Stacy wearing a beautiful sequined gown and tiara. "Oh, wow! Thank you, sir!"_

 _He ran his hand through Waylon's hair, mussing it up. "And if they try to take this one away from you, tell them Monty Burns will put_ them _through a wood chipper."_

 _Suddenly, he was in the Stonecutter Lodge as they finished inducting Smithers Junior and proceeded to dine on steak, and Smithers intimated that he felt as though they went easy on the ass-paddling and so they ought to redo it with Mr. Burns taking the lead, as he was the one who had recommended him for membership._

* * *

Mr. Burns' face hit his desk, and he looked up at the clock. "Eleven-thirty? I was asleep for two whole hours?" He never napped for that long. Then again, Smithers was always there to bring him coffee and wake him up if he overslept.

That, and he'd been awakening in the night and stopping by Smithers' room on his way to the bathroom. The night before, he'd cracked Smithers' door ajar and heard him making noises of distress and stood there listening, almost enjoying it because at least pain meant he was still alive. But a strange urge had overtaken him – an urge to act on a pang of what strangely resembled empathy. He'd turned the light on, walked over to his bedside, and wordlessly held his hand until he fell asleep.

He made a rare excursion to the lunch room – Smithers usually packed him a lunch or went out and bought it for them. While in line, he heard Lenny talking to Homer and Carl.

"I heard Smithers is at death's door. Tony from Health and Safety says he's got a couple days left, tops."

"It's terrible," said Carl. "I mean, he could be a jerk sometimes, but he doesn't deserve that. What a terrible way to go, and for what? So Mr. Burns could live another day to release the hounds on us?"

Homer said, "Yeah, he should've just let Mr. Burns die. He's already a million years old, not to mention a cruel, cheap son-of-a –" He noticed Mr. Burns standing, staring, glowering. "– a hell of a guy!" Burns didn't acknowledge the insult or the flimsy attempt to cover it, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of Smithers' impending demise. Life without Smithers. He'd known it a number of times over the last decade, and he hadn't liked one bit of it. Sobering to think he'd outlive two generations of Smitherses, both killed by his plant.

"I'm surprised you haven't taken the week off to be with him his last days on Earth," said Lenny.

"Yeah," said Carl, "I mean, you're his best friend."

"Sentimental drivel," said Burns. "Besides, I'm sure he has much better friends than me."

"Uh, Earth to Mr. Burns," said Homer, "You're the Carl to his Lenny, the peanut butter to his jelly, the Malibu to his Stacy. He likes you more than he likes anybody else in the world."

"You really think I mean that much to him?"

Carl said, "Yeah, at least that much."

"I... I have to go," he said, tenting his fingers uncertainly as he left the room.

He walked outside into the parking lot, the light overwhelmingly bright to his eyes, prompting them to water slightly. He got behind the wheel of his limousine and closed his eyes and drew a breath, some more water dripping from the corners of his eyes. Cursed sun. If only he had succeeded in blocking it out. He snapped his eyes open and backed out rapidly, dinging some other cars in the process before speeding away.

"Smithers?" he called as he entered the mansion, knowing the man couldn't hear him. "Smithers!" He ran for Smithers' room, a deepening dread weighing him down more with every footfall. "Smithers, don't go!" He flung the door open and stopped breathing when he saw Smithers, more pale and still than ever before. He felt for a pulse and felt none. "I'm too late..." He sniffled slightly. "Smithers, you were the best employee I've ever – no, the best _friend_ I've ever had. Waylon, my dear, dear friend... oh, God, am I going to miss you!" He collapsed over him, arms draped loosely around Smithers shoulders, face buried deeply in Smithers' chest as he wept.

"You'll really miss me?" said Smithers, startling Burns.

"Waylon! You're not...?"

"Not yet. I must have passed out again..."

Mr. Burns felt Smithers' forehead as he took the sponge and dipped it in cool water. "Your fever is better today," he said, cooling his face again.

"Thanks to you." Smithers smiled.

"You're not in as much pain as you were last night."

"The morphine really helps with that."

"Good, good."

"But not as much as you holding my hand last night. That's what really got me through the night."

"Good. Glad to hear it."

"Mr. Burns?"

"Yes?"

"There's one thing I've always wanted to do. And I was wondering if you might grant me one last request."

"Don't speak in such dire terms."

"We both know I'm going to die soon, and I need to tell you before I die that I love you more than anything in the world. I would do anything for you; I would die for you."

"You _are_ dying for me."

"And... I'd really love to kiss you." He looked away, afraid to meet Burns' gaze. "It's okay if you don't want to... I'd understand."

"You're not going to kiss me."

"I understand." He closed his eyes, feeling naked and exposed and feeling that somehow, if he couldn't see Mr. Burns, then Mr. Burns couldn't see his devastation.

Mr. Burns leaned in and kissed his cheek just below his eye, then sat up on the side of the bed, his head turned to face him. "I really will miss you, Waylon."

"Thank you, sir. You don't know how much that means to me." He tensed up in pain. "And even when I'm gone, part of me will live on in you," he said, brushing his hand over Burns' left kidney. "It's been my pleasure, sir, to give you everything of myself, body and soul. I just wish I could live to see you enjoy the life I gave you." He began to cry in shuddering spurts. "Monty, I – I don't want to die... I just want to stay here... with you... forever. I don't want to leave you. Don't let me leave you..." he grasped Burns' wrist and clung tightly to it. "Don't let me go..." He pulled at Burns' tie, then fell back in a faint, Mr. Burns catching him as he fell.

"I won't."


	4. Chapter 4

**Criticality**

 **Chapter Four**

"I'm afraid he's at death's door," said Dr. Hibbert as he led Mr. Burns down the hall to Smithers' room. They stopped outside the door. "If there's anything you want to say to him, now's the time." He turned the handle and opened the door. Mr. Burns stood at the threshold, hand over hand as he looked on like a scared child as Dr. Hibbert walked inside. "Mr. Burns, aren't you coming in?"

He shook his head slowly and deliberately, then frowned and said, "I have nothing to say," then turned away and slammed the door shut.

"Mr. Burns..." said Smithers wearily as he awoke, too tired to turn his head and look around as Dr. Hibbert approached the monitors and checked his vitals. "Where is he?"

"He's... been detained. Some business about the plant."

"But he'll be here soon?"

"He told me he'd be here as soon as he could possibly make it." Dr. Hibbert rested a hand on Smithers' shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make a personal phone call." He left the room for the hall and walked briskly to catch up to Mr. Burns. "Mr. Burns," he said with scorn, "how could you abandon him in his hour of need?"

"What need? My presence won't cure him."

"That man saved your life, and now you won't even give him comfort on his deathbed? That is low, even for you."

"I've seen one Waylon Smithers die before my eyes; I don't need to see it again!"

"Do you think he wanted to watch you dying of hypohemia? Because if you hadn't gotten that blood transfusion when you did, he would've been the one who watched you die. He stood by your side, even though it put him through hell to see the one he loves dying in front of him. If you care even a little bit about him, you'll go back there and stay with him for as long as he needs you."

"What makes you think I care about some sniveling lackey?"

"Mr. Burns, I know you care about him!" He sighed in frustration. "I've seen this time and again – a friend or family member is so distraught, they can't face the reality of their dying loved one, and once they finally muster up the courage to face that fear, it's too late, and they regret it for the rest of their lives. If you walk away from him now, you will regret it for the rest of your life, because this is your last chance to be with him, and you don't want to squander it on self-pity." He put his hand on Burns' shoulder. "He needs you. Don't let him down," he said, returning to Smithers' room.

Ten minutes later, Mr. Burns opened the door to Smithers' room. "Smithers?"

"Mr. Burns..." Smithers spoke in quiet elation.

"I'm here for you, Smithers." He sat in a chair beside him.

"How are things at the plant?"

"What kind of idiotic question is that?"

"I'd like to take my mind off the whole 'dying' thing."

"Oh, very well. We're making record profits this quarter. You helped make it happen, so I thought you'd like to know."

"Glad to hear it."

"The NRC rescheduled their inspection to next Thursday." He looked away and cleared his throat. "I fired six employees yesterday." His face brightened into an uncertain smile momentarily.

"It's good to see you smile."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," he said, lips tightening as he suppressed a tear. "You know I don't like making a show of my... feelings and so forth, but I will tell you this: I won't be doing much smiling once you pass." Smithers reached out his hand, and Mr. Burns smiled and took it, swinging his arm slightly and slowly to and fro. He grabbed a sponge with his other hand and dabbed at Smithers' forehead. "Is there anything more I can do for you?"

"You could kiss me again."

"You are a sly one, Smithers," he said, chuckling, "but no, I won't kiss you." Still holding Smithers' hand in his, he extended his arm, pressing his knuckles against Smithers' lips. Smithers stared into his eyes, trying to figure out if this was a trap of some sort. "Well, what the devil are you waiting for?" Smithers eagerly puckered his lips and kissed his hand.

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh... that reminds me. I brought you something. I'll be back shortly," he said, letting go of Smithers' hand and standing to leave.

Smithers reached out to reclaim Burns' hand. "Whatever it is, I'd rather have you."

"I'll be right back," he said, leaving. He returned in a few minutes with a doll in hand. It was the Malibu Stacy he had given Smithers for his eighth birthday. "I had some goons retrieve it from your apartment." He placed the doll gently in Smithers' hands, then closed his hands around Smithers' and the doll he held.

"Thanks, Monty." He held the doll tightly against his chest. "It means the world to me."

Mr. Burns tightened his grip around Smithers' hands, his fingers digging into the thin and pale flesh as hard as he could, as if he could keep Smithers alive by sheer force of will. His chest heaved in an urgent gasp. "It's the least I could do for you, Waylon."


	5. Chapter 5

**Criticality**

 **Chapter Five**

Dr. Hibbert stood by Smithers' bed and faced Mr. Burns as he examined Smithers' most recent blood test results. "His white count is improving slowly but steadily. The vasopressors we've been administering have brought him back from septic shock, and his electrolytes are approaching normal levels. The worst is over. Mr. Smithers is a lucky man."

"Does this mean he's going to make it?"

"Yes, Mr. Burns. He's going to make it."

He ran to Smithers' side and hugged him tightly, his head resting on Smithers' shoulder, wetting his neck and the hospital gown with tears. Smithers closed his arms around his waist, but even so, Burns held him much more tightly. "Smithers... Smithers..." He brought one hand around the back of Smithers' head, pressing Smithers' chin against his shoulder, and kissed his neck. "Smithers..."

"Mr. Burns..."

"I thought you were a goner."

"I thought I'd never see your beautiful face again."

"Me too, old friend; me too."

"Oh, sir..."

"Shush... you're spoiling the moment with your chattering." He hugged Smithers even tighter, and they stayed in each other's arms for a full minute before gradually parting. Mr. Burns brushed the back of his hand across Smithers' forehead, smiling at the appropriate coolness of his skin. He turned to Dr. Hibbert. "When can he get back to work? My plant has been in disarray these last few weeks without him, and the whole disruption to operations has been rather costly."

"I'll clear him for work in probably a couple of weeks. But for now, he needs rest, and lots of it."

"Well, then, if my presence is no longer required, I must get back to the plant to meet those inspectors. Heal up quickly, Smithers! I need you and your perjuring lips at the ready." He left the room.

Dr. Hibbert sat in the chair beside Smithers. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Waylon." He turned back to look at the door Burns had just shut. "He's glad, too."

"I know."

"He really does care about you."

"I know."

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping my bounds, but... are you two... together?"

"You mean, are we a couple?" Hibbert nodded. "Not exactly. We're not a couple the way I'd like us to be, but we're more of a couple than he'd like us to be." He looked down at the Malibu Stacy in his hand. "Or maybe he _would_ like us to be."

"Maybe he would." There was silence between them for a moment. "In all my years of seeing couples through medical crises, I've never seen a pair more devoted to one other."

"Oh... but he's not like that, normally. He only acts that way when I'm sick."

"Maybe it's because the prospect of losing you forces him to confront the fact he cares about you. It's easy to take someone for granted in health. It's harder to do so when they're knocking on death's door." He looked away briefly before looking back and saying, "Does he know how you feel about him?"

"He does, now. I told him, a week... maybe two weeks ago."

"And what did he say?"

"Nothing. I mean, he did say _something_ , but not about my love for him. He told me not to be so bleak."

"So he just ignored it?" He chuckled. "I swear that man has the emotional intelligence of a six-year-old."

"He didn't ignore it, exactly."

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'? Or are you going to start being as evasive as he is?"

"He kissed me."

"I see your emotional intelligence is no better than his, if that isn't a big, flashing sign."

"You don't understand; he only did it because it was my last request."

"Did he?"

"Besides, it was only a kiss on the cheek."

"I noticed he kissed your neck today."

"You say that like I haven't been thinking constantly about it ever since." His eyes rolled back as he relived the blissful feeling Burns' kiss had induced in him. "But I'm sure it didn't mean anything. He was just overcome with joy, and he's not used to that." He looked down and away, then said softly to himself, "It probably didn't mean anything to him..."

"I think you'd better talk to him when he gets home and find out."

That afternoon, when Mr. Burns returned home to his mansion, he went promptly to Smithers' room. "Smithers? I'm home."

"Welcome home, Mr. Burns. How did the inspection go?"

"Oh, the usual. A plethora of safety violations, but nothing a few bribes couldn't fix." He sat beside Smithers. "One area did pass with flying colors – the uranium processing sector now has state of the art safeguards." He grinned an affectionate grin. "So, how are you?"

"I'm doing very well, thanks to you. I can't get my mind off of when you kissed me."

"Oh, I knew you would mention that!" He scowled. "Why must you always make a big deal of these things? Why can't you leave things be?"

"I want to know how you really feel about me."

"I enjoy your company; isn't that enough?"

"I love it when you kiss me." Mr. Burns made a face of profound awkwardness with a hint of revulsion. "How do you feel... when we kiss?"

"Smithers..."

"Do you like it?"

"Smithers, stop this talk at once!"

"You're thinking about kissing me right now, aren't you?"

"In your dreams."

"You know I'm thinking about kissing you." He reached his hand for Burns' and caressed the back of his bony, wrinkled hand. He drew it slowly to his mouth, his grip so slight that Burns could easily have wriggled out of it, and kissed him slowly, delicately, on his thin, frail wrist. He looked up into Burns' eyes, then raised Burns' hand to his lips once again. He looked up into his eyes again and smiled.

"I don't know what shenanigans you're up to, Waylon, but you'll stop them now if you know what's good for you."

"Is that how you really feel?"

"Yes! Now quit this talk; it's very disconcerting."

"Okay. If that's what you want, Monty, I'll stop. But I know you felt something when you kissed me. Maybe it's not love, but it was something, and I crave it more than life itself."

"It was nothing, I assure you."

"Then why did you let me kiss you again?" Burns averted his eyes. "If I kiss you again, will you kiss me back?" His question met silence. "There's only one way to find out, then."

"You're way out of line. I..." Smithers ran his hand lightly up Burns' arm, rested it on his shoulder, and slowly pulled his face close and kissed him on the corner of his lips. Burns stared with wide-open eyes, then shook his head away and jerked his arm out of Smithers' as he pulled away, then froze as if in revelation. "I don't hate that."

"Sir, that is more than enough for me."

"I'll have the nurse fetch your dinner, now," he said, quickening his pace as he headed for the door.

"You'll come back later to say good night, won't you?"

"Yes. Yes, we'll bid each other good night." He stopped at the door and, without turning back, said in a yearning, breathy whisper, "And thank heavens, we'll bid each other good morning, too."

* * *

 **Author note:** I never had any intention of killing Smithers off. I have no compunction about killing off my favorite characters if it works for the story narrative, but for the story I wanted to tell, Smithers needed to live. This was an experiment in writing for me, as I just got the idea while I was at work and then when I got home sat down and cranked it out in two days without writing an outline or even knowing where I wanted to take it. I didn't know how I wanted to end it until about an hour ago, but I knew it would end with Smithers alive and well.


End file.
